


Mein Herz Brennt

by Rammstein6669



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Disturbing Themes, Extreme Gore, Gen, Gore, Mental Illness, because it's pretty nasty, could be considered self harm, like be prepared
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 07:13:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6792820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rammstein6669/pseuds/Rammstein6669
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nun liebe Kinder gebt fein Acht <br/>Ich bin die Stimme aus dem Kissen <br/>Ich hab euch etwas mitgebracht <br/>HAB ES AUS MEINER BRUST GERISSEN<br/>___<br/>Now, dear children, pay attention <br/>I am the voice from the pillow <br/>I brought you something<br/>I HAVE CUT IT FROM MY BREAST</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mein Herz Brennt

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so first off, this is my first time posting a fic. I've written a shitload of stuff but never gotten around to posting them before. This was originally going to be a one-shot but it turned out a lot longer than I anticipated. Also, I absolutely hate proofreading to I'm sure there are plenty of grammar mistakes. 
> 
> As mentioned before, this is an extremely gory fic. The idea actually came to me from the movie Hellboy. In one scene, a character is diagnosed with "Surgical Addiction" (which was actually my working title for this fic). So it kind of spawned off from that. Just be aware that it is pretty intensely gory at one point.

Surgical addiction  
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They watched him descend into insanity.

At first, the scars were small, silvery lines placed sporadically around his body. They all believed they were merely from the pyros. But it got worse, and eventually the wounds required stitches.

Till refused to go to the hospital, insisting that his father had taught him how to perform sutures. They had to admit, he did do a good job, the wound never reopening. He claimed they were from miscellaneous tasks such as hunting and fishing, however, some of the others were doubtful. They eventually chalked it up to Till's bad luck.

One day, Richard discovered the truth. He walked through the suite he and Till were sharing to see the singer's door slightly ajar. He peered in and his soul died.

Till sat on his bed, a sharp knife in his hand. He mumbled faintly to himself, his voice distant and higher pitched than normal. He smiled as he carved into his bicep, blood pouring from the deep laceration. He laughed softly as he pulled a long string and needle from beside him, slowly lacing the skin back together. When finished, he cut the remaining length and slowly put the scissors down, eyes darting directly to Richard, who was standing petrified.

The guitarist would never forget the wild grin that Till wore. He looked possessed, his eyes dark and unfamiliar. Upon being seen, the younger man immediately went to his own room, not coming out for the entire day. He decided not to tell anyone out of fear, and hope, that his mind was playing tricks on him.

Eventually, the others caught on too.

Oliver called for a meeting with everyone, excluding Till, to discuss the issue. He told of how he saw the singer staring at his collection of knives, fingers dancing over each one. He explained how the older man had pressed down on the top of the blade until blood broke free, gasping with pleasured surprise at, what Ollie assumed to be, a very common sight.

Upon hearing further recognition, Richard finally spoke up. He told his story, hands shaking for an unknown reason as he talked. They decided to keep a close eye on the singer and to try to take away the knives. However, it was in vain.

When Till realized they had taken his blades, he resorted to other measures. Paul noticed burn marks on his arms despite the fact that there had been no pyro accidents. And still, the cuts continued to multiply.

They decided that there was no way to keep Till away from objects he could use to hurt himself, so they tried to talk to him. They sat him down and asked him what was happening, but he refused to answer. Richard grew angry and grabbed the older man's arm, pointing at the stitched injuries and demanding that he explain. Till merely grinned, pulling his arm away and leaving the room.

They realized that there was something horribly wrong. While Till was a masochist, this wasn't normal. He had more willpower than this.

Later, Richard went to visit Till at his house, planning on telling him they were taking him to a doctor.

The guitarist hadn't screamed in years.

He opened the door to the vocalist's bedroom and shrieked with horrid anguish at the sight before him. The older man lay on his back, head propped up with pillows and blankets. Blood covered the once white sheets and his body. He had a deep cut running from his sternum to his lower abdomen, the flesh completely separated. His hand was fully inside of the wound, fingers toying with intestines and organs. He stared at the gore, a slight smile playing at his lips.

Richard couldn't move, his entire body cold and shaking. His breath came in shuddered inhalations, stomach threatening to empty its contents. Upon hearing the other's loud breathing, Till looked up.

"Reesh!" he spoke with a sickeningly happy tone. "Come help me. I need to get the heart." He continued his explorations, the only sound in the room: the wretched wet slosh of blood and guts. "You see, it's burning, and if I don't get it soon...it'll be too late!"

Richard stood in paralyzed shock as his bandmate continued to handle his innards, hand slowly moving towards his ribs. The older man smiled at the feeling of blood trying to push through the veins he pinched closed. He gasped with enjoyment as he felt the stirrings of his heart, the muscle beating rapidly in hopes to keep up with the severe blood loss. He tried to reach it with desperation, but the thick bone and cartilage of his ribcage prevented it. He grew angry and grabbed a bone, strong hand threatening to break it.

Meanwhile, Richard struggled with what he saw. He was on the verge of passing out, nausea pushing him towards vomiting. His mind was racing, telling his body to move, but the muscles refused, shock beginning to set in. He stayed frozen in place, cold sweat dripping down his neck and back. However, the sound of cracking bone followed by a faint whimper from the older man spurred him into action.

Richard ran towards the other, the singer not even looking up at him. He called his name, desperation and fear heavy in his tone. He told him to stop but Till's eyes only widened with excitement.

"Reesh..." he spoke quietly. "I have it."

The guitarist watched with fear as the older man smiled wickedly. He could see the faint vibrations that traveled through the vocalist's arm caused by his pulsating heart. Richard grabbed the other's tricep, Till's eyes darting up to his.

"Let go." Richard demanded. He tried to sound stern but his voice faltered with fear. "Please, Till."

The singer stared at him with wide eyes, blood dripping down his body. He was incredibly pale, eyes glossy and dilated.

"But Richard," he spoke, voice nervous and stressed. "If I don't get it out, it'll burn up!" He began to pull, fingers tightening around the now irregularly beating muscle. He whimpered quietly with a face marred with pain. "It burns, Reesh. It hurts so bad!"

"Till!" Richard's grip on the other's arm tightened. "You need to let go, please!" He tried desperately to convince him, tears rolling down his cheeks. "Please..."

Till whined, torn between the two options. He looked at his bandmate's eyes, tearful and horrified. He ultimately released his grasp, a pained cry escaping his throat as he did. His heart beat rapidly in hopes to make up for the strain that was put on it.

Richard gently pulled his the older man's hand from his body, careful not to anger him. He tried not to vomit as he frantically pulled his phone from his pocket, bloody fingers dialing 112. He stuttered as he spoke hurriedly to the man over the phone, holding Till's wrist tightly to make sure he didn't harm himself more. The man stayed on the phone with him, telling him to keep his friend calm. However, Till was calmer than the guitarist.

The singer lay silent and unmoving as his bandmate spoke rapidly on the phone. He struggled to remain conscious, blood still pouring from his body. Cold sweat beaded on his neck as he struggled to breathe. The only thing he felt was the younger man tightly gripping his blood covered hand.

The ambulance arrived 10 minutes later.  
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A six-membered family sat as five.

The doctors said they had never seen a person purposely do themselves so much harm. After Richard explained what had happened, what Till had said, they told him the older man must have been on some sort of hallucinogen. Most likely a dangerously mixed street drug.

Richard argued.

While Till had done plenty of drugs in his lifetime, he never touched anything heavier than coke. He told them it had to be something else. The doctors told him they would do more tests in the upcoming days should the vocalist miraculously pull through.

Two torturous days went by. Richard smoked nonstop, the little sleep he got plagued by nightmares. Paul refused to talk. Flake drank horribly large amounts of alcohol. Schneider and Oliver tried to remain strong but their emotional fortresses were slowly collapsing in on themselves. Finally, a doctor came out to see them.

"Hello gentlemen," he spoke softly as the five men hurriedly rose to their feet. He introduced himself and took a deep breath before continuing.

"Your friend suffered from very severe blood loss. The strain put on his heart from that and the actual physical contact caused tachycardia, which is an excessively rapid heartbeat. He lost over 20 percent of his blood which caused him to fall into hypovolemic shock shortly after he arrived. He's received a plasma transfusion to replace some of the lost blood cells and fluids. We also gave him a large dose of dobutamine in an attempt to stabilize his heart rate. He's currently in a medically induced coma in hopes to prevent brain damage."

They remained silent with fear, Paul's mouth shut in a firm line next to Schneider who stared with tired eyes.

"Will he be ok?" Oliver asked timidly.

The doctor sighed deeply before responding. "Unfortunately, this was an extremely severe case of blood loss. I can't say for sure that he'll be ok. There runs a large chance of nervous system damage due to a lack of blood and oxygen to the brain. Also, considering the size of the wound and the fact that he had his hand in it, there is a very high probability of infection."

Paul turned his head towards the ground, fists balling as he leaned against Flake's chest. Schneider ran his hands through his hair, rubbing at his face. Suddenly, Richard furiously stubbed out his cigarette and turned to face the doctor.

"So then, what was the cause?" He spoke angrily, obviously tired and frustrated. "This isn't like him! He wouldn't do something like this to himself....to us."

"I was getting there." The doctor spoke softly in hopes to calm the other. "We did a large number of tests. We found signs of encephalitis."

"Encephalitis," Paul repeated with fear, tear-reddened eyes wide and staring. "What is that?"

"It's an inflammation of tissue in the brain." He responded tightly. "It's caused by infection. Could have been an animal or insect bite."

"Oh my god," Schneider near whispered. "Didn't he get bit by an animal hunting recently?" He hurriedly asked the others. They all nodded their agreement but were interrupted once again.

"Is it treatable?" Richard spoke over his bandmates, voice drowned out.

"Pardon?" The doctor asked

"I said, is it treatable?" He questioned with intensity.

"Fortunately, yes. Encephalitis is normally recovered from relatively well."

They all ceased their conversation, a slight wave of comfort easing some of the tension.

"That still doesn't explain why he did this." Richard retorted with a hint of bitterness. He struggled with the memory of what he had witnessed.

"Encephalitis can cause many other mental issues. It is my belief that, using what you told me he said," he paused with suspense.

"He was schizophrenic."  
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Two days later they were permitted to see him. The hospital staff insisted that no more than three people should go in, but they all went anyways. When they entered the bright, sterile room, they were shocked.

Till lay back on the bed, covered with blankets and sheets. Machines buzzed, clicked, and beeped as they pumped different liquids into his body. An endotracheal tube ran down his throat, keeping oxygen supplied. Perhaps the most daunting of all was the subarachnoid screw that was drilled through his skull in order to measure the amount of pressure put on his brain. Never before had Till looked so fragile and helpless, his skin incredibly pale. His muscles had visibly diminished, his frame losing some of its massive form.

"Oh my god," Oliver whispered as he sat in one of the chairs on the side of the room, knees weak.

Paul and Flake approached the bed, the rhythm guitarist reaching out to hold the singer's cool hand. "He's lost so much weight." He choked out, tears threatening to break free.

Schneider stood nervously in the corner of the room as he bit his fingernails. His foot tapped a nervous rhythm on the shiny linoleum tiles of the floor.

Richard pulled a chair up next to the bed, throwing himself onto it. He took a tight hold of Till's other hand, his own trembling slightly. He gently rubbed it, recalling how just days ago it had caused so much harm. He bowed his head and tried desperately to push the images from his mind; however, they refused to leave.

Suddenly, the door to the room opened and an older nurse entered. She seemed surprised that there were so many people in the small room. It was an odd sight, five silent men dressed in black on the verge of tears.

"I need to disinfect his wound again." She looked at Richard who hadn't moved and inch and surely appeared as if he wouldn't. "You can stay if you'd like."

Paul and Flake moved away so she could get at Till, the older guitarist still not leaving his spot. She slowly pulled down the blankets to reveal the massive laceration that had been stitched closed with thick string. Schneider averted his eyes as Paul shuddered with a mixture of queasiness and fear. Richard merely looked back down, not wanting to be reminded any further of what had occurred.

After she finished putting topical disinfectant on the injury and redressing it, she once again left them with their thoughts.

Their thoughts and the motionless body of their brother.  
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It was a week before they woke Till from the coma.

When they slowly began to ease him back into breathing on his own he had panicked and fought fearfully. He tried to pull the tubes out of his throat, panic making his heart rate rise rapidly as he gagged and choked on plastic. It took five nurses to hold him down as they sedated him, tying his wrists and ankles to the bed to prevent him from causing himself more harm. He calmed down once he was permitted to fully breathe for himself; however, his mind was still fuzzy. He struggling to remember what happened only to find that he could only recall bits and pieces. All he knew was that his chest ached and he felt constant interior turmoil.

Visitors were permitted a day later. This time, the staff enforced the two person rule, not wanting to overwhelm him. The rest of the band told Richard that he should be the first to see him considering he had been there when it happened. He asked to go alone and the others were happy to agree.

Slowly, Richard opened the door to the vocalist's room. He turned his back to the older man as he closed the door, taking a deep breath before he turned around again.

Till stared at him with tired eyes, skin still abnormally pale. He tried to force a smile but it seemed as though it pained him in some way.

"Reesh..." He spoke feebly, voice rough and gritty from the tubes that had been down his throat.

The guitarist finally moved closer, pulling a chair up to the bed. He rested his forearms on the side of the white mattress, hands trembling slightly. He craved a cigarette badly.

"We thought we lost you." He spoke softly, head turned down from the other's face. Till closed his eyes, brow furrowing as he struggled with the guilt of unknown actions.

"I'm sorry." He responded, voice filled with sorrow and disappointment in himself.

"It's not your fault." Richard responded hurriedly, finally looking at the older man's glossy eyes. "You weren't in your right mind."

Till looked away, still uncomfortable with eye contact after everything that occurred. He gently flexed his fingers, trying to relearn how to function properly.

"I don't remember anything." He finally spoke with embarrassment. "It's like my mind blocked it all out."

The guitarist sighed deeply. "Do you want me to tell you?"

"Only if you want to." Till responded. Always putting others first, even after all this.

Richard knew he had to explain. There was no way he could leave his brother in the dark about what had almost killed him. He slowly began, trying to be conscientious about the words he chose.

"I went to your house to see how you were doing." He started, eyes turned down. "I walked into the bedroom and saw you lying there. You had..." He paused, unsure about how to continue. "You had cut yourself open. And you had your hand inside of it."

Richard stopped as tears welled on his long eyelashes. "And then you told me—" His voice broke as he reached the end of the story, emotions finally flowing free. "You told me you needed to get your heart.....because it was burning."

Tears finally fell.

The older man looked away with disgust at himself, the beeping of the heart rate monitor slightly faster than before. He was the cause of Richard's anguish and it made him hate himself. He didn't understand how he could have done this.

"Reesh—" he started, but was interrupted by the other.

"27 stitches, a broken rib, severe blood loss, nearly a heart attack, coma, encephalitis, and..." He paused, voice weak. "And signs of schizophrenia."

"All this and you still pulled through." A small smile turned the corners of his lips upwards. "You fuckin' bastard."

Till slowly reached out, fingers connecting with the younger man's hand. It was rare that he displayed thankfulness or affection through physical contact.

"You saved my life, Reesh." He spoke softly as he tightly held the other for comfort.

"You're my brother, Till." He responded matter of factly.

"I would die for you."  
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**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't sure how to end this tbh. I kinda wanted to add more but I didn't know where to take it. 
> 
> So anyways, thank you all for reading! Hope you enjoyed it. Constructive criticism is welcome.


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